Heavens-a-bloomin-bove!

I can't tell you how thrilled and flattered I am to have received so many reviews for one chapter alone. My sincerest thanks! And my apologies to the last ten or so reviewers who I didn't manage to reply to - your comments were just as much appreciated, and the cookies equally as delicious, but real life has a bad habit of spoiling my plans from time to time.

Thank you again for all the encouraging reviews. They made this week better than it would otherwise have been. :)

It wasn't until uniformed men burst into the room, swords drawn and ready, that Arthur realised he had been shouting for the guards.

The younger of the two, fair of face and slight in build, glanced about quiet chamber, eyes wary and alert. "Sire?"

The second knight, Sir Gildor, nudged the shorter guard aside. His eyes immediately sought out his prince, worry burning in their depths, but a split second later they had settled on Merlin's unconscious form. Striding swiftly forwards, he sheathed his sword and knelt beside Arthur in one fluid motion, his red cloak pooling about him. He grasped Merlin's shoulder, shaking him gently and calling him by name. Arthur watched as if in a trance, still reeling from the initial shock of his manservant's collapse.

Suddenly, the pale man's eyes cracked open, his limbs stirring and his chest shuddering as he inhaled deeply. The young guard who had been the first to enter the room put away his sword quickly and hurried towards them, coming to stand opposite the two kneeling men. Drawn by the sudden movement, Merlin's bloodshot eyes flickered in his direction, hazy and unfocused, the lids drooping and reopening constantly. Then without warning, his eyes rolled back in their sockets and the lids slid closed again, his facial muscles going lax.

Gildor leaned closer and tapped the boy's cheek gently with an index finger.

"Merlin?"

When he showed no signs of coming around again, the bearded knight straightened quickly, turning his attention to the silent figure beside him. "What happened, sire?"

Arthur blinked, shaken out of his stupor. Running a hand through his hair and gripping it at the crown, he shook his head slowly. "He just collapsed. One moment he was fine and then the next..." He tapered off, watching the guard worriedly as the elder man held a hand to Merlin's forehead. "What is it?"

The knight shook his head, his expression serious. He turned troubled eyes towards the prince. "His brow burns with a fever, sire. I fear he is gravely ill."

A leaden weight, cold and heavy, slid down Arthur's chest and into his stomach. He swallowed heavily against the nausea that churned there. Then roughly pushing the feeling aside and trying to distance himself from his roiling emotions, he clenched his hands into fists, squared his jaw, and glanced up quickly towards the waiting guard.

"Fetch me the court physician. Immediately."

With a respectful bow, the guard sheathed his sword and hurried from the room, his swift footsteps fading as he ran off down the corridor.

Arthur's attention quickly returned to the situation at hand. He nudged Gildor in the side as he bent forwards to slide an arm under Merlin's knees, wrestling the other beneath his manservant's shoulder blades. "Help me move him onto the bed."

The knight glanced at the elaborately carved four-poster, his eyebrows climbing. "Onto your bed, sire?"

"Yes, onto my bed," Arthur snapped, shooting a brief, impatient frown in the older knight's direction. "You swore an oath of obedience, Gildor."

"Arthur," the bearded man said urgently, lowering his voice as he ever did when addressing the future king by his birth name. "Your father will not approve."

Arthur looked at him slowly, meaningfully. "Then no word of this will reach his ears. Now help me."

Shaking his head in silent disapproval, Gildor moved so that he was crouching on Merlin's other side. Slipping his arms alongside Arthur's, beneath the knees and shoulder blades, he tipped his head towards the door. "Please, sire, my chambers are nearby. He is welcome to stay there as long as he needs. The affairs conducted within a knight's chambers are of no concern to your father; he will find no fault in it."

The prince paused, considering the idea, caught between a desire to assist Merlin himself and the need to keep his father's nose out of the situation. Uther tolerated his uncommonly close friendship with his manservant simply because it kept the peace between them, but he'd demonstrated countless times in the past that he saw Merlin as just another lowly subject, and therefore...disposable.

"Please, Arthur, I'm begging you," Gildor implored, his voice deep and pressing. "Too much has happened these past few days. You know your father has no tolerance for the boy; it is Merlin who will bear the brunt of the king's wrath if he is discovered here."

Realising the truth behind the words, Arthur nodded slowly. The stress of the king's ordeal and the impact of the recent battle would take their toll on the senior Pendragon; Uther's usually short temper would be even more strained, his judgements swift and harsh. For days, the servants would be scurry around, heads bowed and eyes fearful, working with twice the efficiency in the hope that they would not displease their king. If he discovered a servant in the prince's own bed, Uther would see Arthur's actions as a betrayal to his birthright, an act of rebellion against the principles of their forefathers.

No, he couldn't endanger Merlin like that. Not after...

Swallowing heavily, he raised his eyes to meet Gildor's gaze, feeling a surge of affection and gratitude for the honest, steadfast knight who had fought alongside him through thick and thin for so many years.

"Thank you."

Gildor dipped his head slowly, respectfully, before readjusting his grip on Merlin's prone form. "Come, sire. We must hurry."

o~O~o

Arthur sat down heavily in the wooden chair at the bedside, face pale, insides churning nauseatingly. He rubbed a hand back and forth over his mouth, shaking his head slowly as he stared at the exposed back.

The skin down the left side was mottled with bruises of varying shades; yellows and greens and blacks in overlapping blotches, trailing from shoulder blade to hip. The bruising on his right side, although visibly lighter, stood out starkly against the pallor of Merlin's skin. But the worst injury by far was the ugly, weeping puncture wound in the left side of his lower back. More than an inch in length and the same again in depth, it looked and smelled infected, shining with a clear, viscus fluid. The skin surrounding the wound was swollen and shiny as though scalded by hot water; a shade of red so dark that appeared almost purple.

Trying to swallow past the dry, scratchy sensation in his throat, he dropped his hand into his lap and glanced up at Gaius. "He was stabbed."

Although it wasn't a question, the elderly physician nodded sadly, taking the blood- and pus-stained strips of cloth that Merlin had used to bandage his wound and tossing them into the crackling fire in the hearth. The fabric caught alight quickly and Gaius turned away, fetching a jar of something from his satchel of supplies and returning to the bedside.

"It wasn't the broad blade of a sword or spear that struck him, sire," he murmured, untying the leather covering and dipping his fingers into the contents of the jar. "I believe a small dagger caused this wound."

Pierced by a dagger? Merlin?

Arthur could scarcely fathom it. Disregarding the incident where his servant had been poisoned – because that had been the man's own stupid fault for drinking the wine in the first place, the self-sacrificing idiot – Merlin had always managed to emerge relatively unscathed from whatever battle or full-scale disaster he had fallen into. A bump or two here, a graze there; and then there had been that one time, during their brief skirmish with the resurrected Knights of Medhir, when he'd actually drawn blood. But time and time again, they had faced unlikely odds and survived. Powerful enchantments, dark sorcerers, creatures from a man's worst nightmares, the Great Dragon himself – together they had confronted their foes, and always they had emerged victorious. By force of habit, he had assumed that Merlin had come away from the battle unharmed. The enormity of his own ignorance disgusted him. And yet that was not the worst of it.

Some cowardly bastard had attacked his servant unawares.

No self-respecting knight of Camelot would ever dream of striking a deadly blow when a man's back was turned. Such an act was akin to slaughter and went against every principle he and his men stood for. Cenred's soldiers were nothing more than monsters. Where had been the valour in stabbing a lowly servant from behind? Where had been the dignity?

Arthur curled his hands into fists, grating his teeth together as the rage bubbled within him. He hoped, in the darker recesses of his heart, that the culprit had died a slow and painful death.

"Will he be alright, Gaius?"

The physician glanced up from where he had been smearing honey over the open wound, and Arthur was struck by how haggard and frail he suddenly appeared. The light and energy had gone from his eyes, replaced instead by a sombre weariness that set alight a deep, aching ball of worry in the prince's chest.

"I cannot say for certain," the elderly man sighed, dropping his gaze to the pale and sweating form on the bed. "The blade did not penetrate deeply enough to damage any organs, but the infection is severe. And do you see these marks?"

His forefinger, glistening with honey, hovered over one side of the wound. Arthur bent his head closer, squinting in the fading light of the grey afternoon, and frowned at what he saw. Several thin, black tendrils curled out from the lips of the laceration, snaking their way along the raised, swollen flesh like dark roots through light soil. They were short - barely an inch in length - but a worrisome sight all the same.

"The blackened areas are where the flesh has died," Gaius explained gravely. "Such an occurrence is not uncommon if a severe infection has already set in, but never in all my years have I seen it form so quickly, nor in one so young and healthy. I fear, sire, that the weapon was poisoned."

Arthur swore softly, fisting his hair in his hands and propping his elbows against his knees. He gazed at his manservant for a long moment, his eyes lingering on the pale features that faced him. Gaius had positioned Merlin so that he lay on his stomach with his arms bent loosely beneath the pillow and his head turned to one side. In the dim light, he seemed so young, so vulnerable. So stupidly innocent.

He dragged both hands through his fringe and down his face, feeling the rough scratching of the stubble on his cheeks. "He shouldn't have fought in the battle, Gaius," he murmured numbly. "He can barely lift a sword, how was he to defend himself against trained soldiers? What was I thinking?"

Gaius smiled softly, fondly, washing his hands in the basin of hot water that a servant had placed on the wooden table near the hearth. "I believe he would have gone with you anyway, regardless of your wishes. I fear he has learnt that stubbornness from me."

"But how could I have missed this?" Arthur continued, kneading his middle and index fingers into the centre of his forehead, a self-deprecating frown drawing a crease between his eyebrows. "And why didn't he tell me?"

"You had a great deal on your mind, Arthur, he likely didn't wish to add to your burden," the physician said gently, becoming once more the elderly friend he had so often relied upon for solace and counsel in his youth. "If anyone has been blind, it is I. Right from the beginning, I had an inkling that something was amiss, but we discovered the cause of your father's sudden madness shortly following his return and I saw little of him thereafter. Had I paused for a moment and simply asked him what was wrong, perhaps this whole mess could have been avoided."

Arthur glanced up again, his brow creased in confusion. "But that was hours before the battle. Merlin wasn't injured until Cenred's men reached the inner wall; I saw him fighting."

The physician seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh no, sire." He gestured to the darkened area of skin vaguely. "The impact of whatever it was that caused the most severe portion of the bruising during the battle clearly reopened the wound and aggravated the infection; but the injury itself is at least two days old."

His head was reeling. Blinking up at the elderly man, suddenly light-headed, he fumbled for control. When he finally recovered his voice, it was low and hoarse. "That can't be right."

"I'm afraid there can be no mistake," Gaius replied solemnly. "The wound was inflicted long before Cenred's army reached us."

"But how; when? And by whom? He hasn't been-" Arthur broke off, his eyes widening as the missing pieces of the puzzle finally slid into place. Gripping the arms of the chair, he met the physician's concerned gaze, his mouth going dry. "He was missing. For hours on end. I assumed he was trying to skive off work, but...he was..."

"Sire?"

Arthur pinned the older man with an intense, serious stare. "Gaius, where was he? That day he went missing, where did he go? Tell me."

Gaius shook his head wearily. "In all honesty, I don't know. He never spoke of it to me." The frail man sighed, gazing sadly at his unconscious ward. "I believe we have reached the same conclusion regarding the time of its infliction, have we not?"

"So it seems." Arthur dropped his head into his hands, pressing the sweaty heels into the sockets of his tired and aching eyes. "How could I have missed this?"

"You couldn't have known," the physician soothed, placing a warm, weathered hand on his shoulder. "Trust me; once that boy has his mind set on something, there is little that can dissuade him."

Despite the weight of guilt and shame in his heart, Arthur sniffed a slight grin. "Yes, I've begun to notice that." Then he glanced again at his manservant's pale face and sighed, chewing on his lower lip.

"You are not to blame, Arthur."

He didn't need to ask how Gaius knew his innermost thoughts, and the automatic denial that rose to his lips died a moment later. Such words would be futile, meaningless. Oh, how he had missed the older man's counsel. In recent years, the pressures of his increasing responsibilities as heir to the throne of Camelot had gradually drawn them further apart; but there had been a time, in his youth, when the enormity of his inheritance had proven too weighty to bear and he had found himself in need of a strong, reassuring hand on his shoulder and a wise, soothing voice telling him that all would be well in the morning. Gaius had filled a role that his own father, too often consumed by his grief over Ygraine's death, could not.

The physician's absence from his life in recent years had pained him. He had reached adulthood at a sprint, eager to prove himself and gain the respect of the older knights under his command. All the attention - and a significantly looser rein - had changed him. And it hadn't been for the better. If Merlin hadn't blundered along into his life, who could tell what sort of a man he would have become?

Gaius patted his shoulder gently, smiling, before moving away to attend to Merlin's wound. "You should get some rest, sire. It has been a long day."

Arthur spared a glance towards the only window in the wide chamber, frowning at the grey clouds that hung overhead. There was no way of telling what the hour was. Not yet mid afternoon, he guessed. At least he hadn't heard the citadel bell striking thrice to signify said hour.

He shook his head. "I'm all right. I can stay a while longer."

"Sire, please. There is nothing you can do here. Sir Gildor will be returning from his duty shortly, no doubt with orders from the king to ascertain your whereabouts. Your father will want to know that you are resting after the battle; he cares a great deal for your wellbeing."

Defeated, Arthur pushed himself stiffly to his feet, flexing his aching shoulders. "You will inform me immediately of any changes in his condition?" Gaius inclined his head. "Anything you need, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask for it," the prince continued, trying to avert his gaze from the physician's penetrating eyes. He was beginning to sound all too concerned. "I will inform the guard outside to fetch whatever you require without question. If I have not returned by sundown, I want you to send someone to wake me, understood?"

A warmth had returned to the elderly man's deep blue eyes. "It will be done, sire. And thank you."

With a stiff nod and a last glance at the prone form of his manservant, Arthur turned and strode resolutely from the room, shutting the door behind him.

o~O~o

"Gaius?"

He started at the faint voice, the pestle slipping from his fingers and clattering loudly against the rim of the clay mortar and tipping it over, spilling ground herbs across the wooden table. He didn't spare the mess a glance, already hurrying over to the four-poster bed where his patient was beginning to stir beneath the coverlets. He and Sir Gildor had settled Merlin on his good hip, held in place by a feather pillow on either side of his body. Beneath the light blanket he was naked from the waist up. This was partly to make the wound more easily accessible, but also to allow Gaius to bathe the burning skin with cool water in an attempt to lower the raging fever. Three hours had passed and still it showed no sign of abating.

Rounding the bed quickly and leaning down, he pressed a callused hand to the boy's too-warm brow.

"Merlin?" he called, his voice low and gentle. "Can you hear me?"

Pale eyelids fluttered, straining against the weight of sleep that held them down. After what seemed like an eternity, they slid open fully to reveal the fever-glazed orbs beneath. The boy winced up at him, confusion and discomfort written across his features.

"Wha' happened?"

Concern and relief battling within him for dominance, Gaius smoothed back his ward's dark and sweaty locks. "You collapsed in Arthur's chambers earlier this afternoon. The wound in your back had become infected. And Merlin," he lowered his voice so that it was barely above a whisper, conscious of the guard standing just outside the oak door, "I know magic when I see it. This was no normal affliction. How did you acquire such a wound? Was it Morgause?"

"M'sorry." Merlin croaked hoarsely, his face pained. "Should've told you. I didn't know. I...it was...m'sorry."

"My boy, I'm not angry," Gaius soothed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, his hand still resting on Merlin's forehead. "But it is vital that you tell me how you came by such a wound."

Merlin sucked in quick, shallow breaths through his nose, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "A creature. In the forest of the druids," he explained shakily. Finding the strength to talk was clearly an effort for him. "Morgause bound me with magic. She and Morgana...they left. I couldn't break the chains. I tried...I tried so hard, but...it was no use. The creatures surrounded me. There were too many of them. Too many. One struck me, I...I couldn't see. Hurt so much."

Gaius was glad he had chosen to sit down. He gripped Merlin's shoulder gently, heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. "A nest of serkets? Merlin, their venom is potent. You should have perished."

The boy gave a shaky, pained laugh. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Merlin."

"Kilgharrah saved me," the younger man explained wearily, closing his eyes. "I called to him and he came. He used magic to heal me." He chuckled weakly, then winced. "Doesn't seem to have worked very well."

"He healed you of the serket's venom," Gaius said, tugging the blankets a little higher over Merlin's shoulder. "And for that you should be grateful. I have no cure for such an affliction. Even if you had made it back to Camelot, there would have been little I could have done."

Merlin cracked an eye open, the ghost of his usual grin flitting across his pale features. "That's what you always say, but we've never failed to find a cure before."

"Hush," the physician admonished with a smile, reaching to the side to take the cloth from the bowl of water on the bedside table. Wringing it out briefly, he folded it into a long wad and pressed it to the boy's forehead. Merlin closed his eyes again, groaning softly.

"S'nice."

"Hush," Gaius repeated, this time more gently. "You have a high fever. The dragon's magic may have purged the venom from your system, but it left you weakened and vulnerable to infection. You're lucky you collapsed when you did – another day without treatment and it may have been too late."

He felt the lad's brow crease beneath the cloth. "M'sorry."

Gaius smoothed the dark hair back a second time, turning the cloth over in his other hand so that the cooler side now kissed the fevered skin. "Shh, enough apologies. There will be time to talk of such things when you are feeling better. You need to rest."

Merlin didn't need further prompting. With a deep, weary sigh, he pressed his face further into the feather pillow, relaxing against the bed. Within moments, he had drifted off. Gaius removed the cloth and returned it to the bowl, gazing down fondly at the snoozing lad beside him. Tucking the blankets closer about the boy's slight frame, he smiled softly.

"Sleep well, Merlin."

I am SO relieved that today's episode revealed the medicinal properties of honey - I've noticed that people take in facts with greater ease if they hear it from their favourite TV show. *grins* I wasn't looking forward to explaining it here AND in my review replies. But indeed, honey was used as a successful antibacterial for hundreds of years before modern scientific medicine took over. A friend of mine used it in an advanced biology experiment last year, and the effects were truly surprising.

The next chapter should be posted in about three or four days.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the installment! Feel free to leave a review. Any feedback is much appreciated. :)

Stay safe!

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